


Lady Lazarus

by dweebulous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweebulous/pseuds/dweebulous
Summary: One half of a correspondence.





	

Dear Remus,

You left me your copy of  _ Dorian Grey  _ when we were both at Number 12, and I wanted to return the favor. I don’t want you to think you are my professor assigning me books. I’m not so sure how I feel about  _ Dorian _ yet. It seemed mostly like a story of pompous men. 

Have you read Sylvia Plath before? I hope you will enjoy the book. You told me you don’t read much poetry, but how can you deny lines like these?

_ Out of the ash  _

_ I rise with my red hair    _

_ And I eat men like air. _

I used to write this inside all of my notebooks when I was in school. Of course, I wrote very many embarrassing things on my notebooks. (Song lyrics, poetry of my own making, bad doodles of broken hearts). But of all those embarrassing things, those three lines stick with me. At Hogwarts I would keep my hair shaded red and secretly call myself Lady Lazarus in my head. Thank god I never tried to have my friends call me that. You’re the only person I’ve told that to, and if you tell anyone else, I’ll curse you into jelly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the book. If you don’t, tell me, so I can tell you which ways you are wrong. 

In addition to the book, I want you to know I’ve been thinking of you often. I’ve been missing Sirius very much. I’m sure you are going through something awful right now. 

 

Remus, 

I’m very happy that you liked the book, or you at least have the decency to lie to me. I like the little drawing of you on the train, reading it while the old lady scowls at you across the aisle. Your drawings are wonderful. I used to watch you doodle at Number 12. It used to make me feel sad to see you draw all over a napkin and then just toss it away. 

I hope to see you at the next Order meeting. Everyone has been asking after you. I don’t say this to guilt you—just to let you know we care. 

 

Remus, 

Wonderful to see you last night. I think I’ll step up for Hogwarts guard duty—Kingsley reckons Mad Eye and Dumbledore will work it out to pay my rent for a little flat in Hogsmead if I agree to patrol the school borders for a year. It’s strange being in the Order and being an Auror, because working as part of the Ministry is difficult sometimes when I don’t believe in what they are doing. But Mad-Eye says vigilante justice is a lazy way out when you can do the most good from inside the system. 

I guess I’m still working it all out. I worry I’ll be lonely in Hogsmead. The town is so small, and guard work can be lonely. Sorry to send this all to you, but it does help me to write it all out. 

  
  


Remus, 

Your letter came the day I decided to take the guard position at Hogwarts. Thank you for the advice. I agree with you, I am already worried about going back to Hogwarts as an adult. It sounds like going back changed the way you remember the place. I like having Hogwarts in my head as a safe and happy place. I hope that doesn’t change. 

I think of the battle at the Ministry a lot. Just about every time I close my eyes. The spells keep flashing on the inside of my eyelids—red and green, stun and kill. 

I don’t talk about this often. Or ever, really. Let me know if I’ve gone too far in writing to you. It’s just that you were there, too, and I trust you. 

  
  


Remus, 

Please don’t apologize. I understand you’re not ready to talk about it. Write me when you are, and in the meantime, I’d love to write to you other things. 

My apartment above the Hogshead is tiny with big windows and lots of light. There’s room for a bed, a blue armchair, an armoire and a small table with two chairs. The kitchen is a postage stamp and the bathroom is dingy, but the bathtub is deep and has claw feet. I always dreamt of having a bathtub with claw feet. 

If you are in Hogsmead or at Hogwarts for business, please come to visit me. Before the students get here, I’m mostly relegated to reinforcing the defensive charms on the gates and twiddling my thumbs. 

 

Remus, 

As you surely know, I have not been to the Prefect’s Bathroom because I was never a Prefect. Your glowing description of it leads me to believe you are merely showing off. You like people to think of you as a Prefect, but I know from Sirius’s old stories that you were a rogue in school. 

I will be happy to see you the last week in July. 

 

Remus, 

I’m glad you wrote me after we last saw each other. I keep thinking of our conversation at the Three Broomsticks. About continuing to do good as the world seems to go bad. I really do mean what I said about believing in Mad-Eye’s motto: Constant vigilance. It’s so easy to be complacent, or to pretend we are safe. Lately I’m glad I have that inner Mad-Eye screaming in my head, keeping me on my toes. I swear I wake up in the night sometimes with him shouting in my head. 

I tried to get a coffee at Madame Puddifoot’s last week but all of the choices were disgusting. Raspberry truffle syrups and lavender whipped cream. I like my coffee black, and I don’t trust people who take too much cream or sugar. What I’m saying is, living in Hogsmead is driving me as mad as I feared, and your visit was a light in the darkness. 

I want to confess to something. You asked why I was wearing my hair brown, and I told you it was part of fitting in with the town. But the truth is, it’s getting harder and harder to change my appearance. Things that used to be so easy are a struggle lately. Things that used to make me happy seem so unimportant. 

I keep hearing you say things are going to get worse. I’m glad you said it. So many people are lying, saying things will be alright. I like that you are honest. 

 

Remus, 

Got your letter this morning. I would love to meet you in London next weekend. Before term starts, I’m flexible. 

 

Remus, 

First of all, I’m proud to be the sort of person who kisses people without hesitating or overthinking it. If I want to kiss someone, I generally do, and I wanted to kiss you last weekend in at the train station so I did. I’m not sorry for kissing you but I’m sorry if this was too much, or too fast. I would have preferred that you’d laughed or at least smiled. Now all I can think about is your face from the window of the train as I pulled away. You looked distraught, and that wasn’t my intention. I think that kissing in times like these is good and healthy, and in the name of honesty I’ll admit I would like to kiss you more, but next time I’ll ask for your permission. 

 

Remus,

Please owl me back. I feel like I’m going mad. 

 

Remus, 

Don't write to me like I’m a schoolgirl. I’m an adult, and you’re not too much older than me, even if you act like you are. I’m not a child, and you’re not a dirty old man. We’re both grown up and capable of making our own decisions. I’m sorry if I sound angry, but I am. Even if you didn’t want to kiss me, you can’t write to me like you’re my professor giving results on a final essay. Since when do you sign off with ’cordially.’ 

I only say these things because I’ve come to care about you a lot. Please just treat me like your friend.

  
  


Remus, 

I’m sorry you are going through a hard time. You’re not alone in that. I miss Sirius too, though I’m sure it’s very different than how you miss him. I only knew him for such a short while, but in that time I thought of him as someone I was meant to know. He made me laugh so much. He used to tell me stories about your group in school—all of your hexes and pranks and late-night sneaking out. 

I had dinner at the Weasleys’ last week and Molly made a comment about how he’d died a hero’s death. And I wanted to tell her that’s bullshit, that he shouldn’t have died at all, and that a hero’s death isn’t a good consolation prize. Of course, I just stuffed my mouth with pork chop so that I wouldn’t say something I regretted. I know she means well. 

Term starts in two weeks, and until then my days are quiet. 

 

Remus, 

You seemed tired and thin at the Order meeting. Is it rude of me to say? If one more person comments on my brown hair I’m going to scream. I can’t be bothered changing it anymore. 

You asked in your last letter why I choose to go by Tonks. You have to admit that Nymphadora is a terrible name to give a child, and a straight-up cruel name to carry as a preteen, once kids know the word Nymphomaniac. I guess I prefer Tonks. I like that it’s quick. I like that it’s not too fancy.

My parents call me Dora. And you do. I like when you call me Dora.

What do you prefer to be called? I remember Sirius used to call you Moony. Is there a story about that?

 

Remus, 

I’m sorry. I won’t bring up Sirius any more unless you bring him up first. 

I would love for you to come visit before term starts. The Hogwarts grounds are so strange and quiet before the students get here. 

  
  


Remus, 

How am I supposed to feel when you say I make you feel bad about yourself? I’m not going to apologize for being honest. You didn’t have to come to see me, you didn’t have to sleep with me, you didn’t have to spend three perfectly nice days in my apartment and then leave in a huff. I think you are sad and frightened, and those things make you afraid to be happy.

 

Remus, 

When you relax you seem ten years younger. When you were laying under my blanket, making fun of my Hufflepuff colors, I could see what you must have been like as a teenager. I’ve been thinking a lot about whether I would say this, or how to put it, because I can see you rolling your eyes at me. But I think that a war is probably more of a reason than ever to come together, to take things we want. 

I thought you wanted me. I still think you do. I don’t think you would have spent all weekend in my bed if you hadn’t. I want to make it very clear: I want you very badly, and I am not put off by your history or your scars or your age or even that sometimes you are an utter asshole who stops writing me back for weeks at a time.

Term starts tomorrow. I will be apparating to Kings Cross at 8 a.m. to patrol the train. If you are free, meet me at Platform 10 for a cup of coffee before I go off on my way. 

 

Remus, 

I should not have asked you to Kings Cross. You put me in a foul mood the rest of the day. How can you act so stiff and distant after the things you write to me about? How can you sit across from me sipping your tea, refusing to meet my eyes? If I’m so repulsive that you can’t even look at me, why did you even come? 

 

Remus, 

A visit was better than a letter, anyhow, so I’ll forgive that you didn’t write me back. I hope you had as nice of a time as I did. I’ve kept the flowers you brought on the kitchen table even though they’re wilting and dropping petals. You looked so sheepish standing at the door, holding that handful of daffodils. Actions are better than apologies, I think. 

I’ve been walking the perimeter of Hogwarts every day, patching up the defensive spells where they’ve gotten weak, trying to think of ways someone could sneak past. In the evenings I patrol the castle. Sometimes I put an invisibility hex on myself so I don’t have to speak to anyone. My spell isn’t the best—I look like heat waves in the shape of a person—but students are so wrapped up in their own problems that sometimes they bump into me and don’t even stop. 

I think a good thing about being here is that I see the students wrapped up in petty dramas and relationships and exams and it’s such a clear reminder that life doesn’t just go on. Life is happening right now. 

 

Remus, 

Please come stay with me for Halloween. After I walk the castle, we can steal feast food from the kitchens and lock ourselves in my flat and tell each other ghost stories. 

 

Remus, 

Why would you say you were going to come if you weren’t going to come? Why would you not even send me an owl? I don’t know what to do anymore. I should tell you to never write me again. Even better, I should stop sending you letters. I might as well crumple this and throw it into the fire. 

 

Remus, 

I didn’t remember what the date meant. Octobers must be hard for you. I’ve seen the monument to Lily and James (and Harry, of course) in Godric’s Hollow when I was there on Ministry business. I remember thinking the statues looked so, so young. They were young, weren’t they? Younger than I am now. I know that you knew them, but I think of them as people from history books. Good, brave people who don’t seem quite real. But they were real—they were your friends. Your letter reminded me. Please tell me about them, if you can. Tell me things they don’t write in the history books. 

I had whiskeys with Mad-Eye and he told me all his doomsday prophecies. Usually I brush him off, but now I’m inclined to believe him. He says more people will die, and soon. What do you think?

 

Remus,

Your story of James ramming head-first into the “secret passage” tapestry had me laughing out loud. What is it about teenage boys and the propensity to run head-first into stone walls? No risks, no discoveries, I suppose. 

Francesca Corden was my best friend in school—Frankie. She was, as they say, a bad influence. We used to sneak to the astronomy tower to smoke cigarettes and read tarot cards. Now she’s married with three kids. I see her maybe once a year, but we hardly have anything to talk about. It’s strange how people’s lives diverge so much. 

What were you like in school? What was Sirius like? Were you always friends, or did it take time?

 

Remus, 

I understand if you can’t talk about Sirius. I’m sorry for bringing it up again, after I said I wouldn’t. I just think of him so often, and I’m sure you do too.

 

Remus, 

I started to write you saying I hadn’t known, but I crumpled up the letter because I think I did know. Deep down. There was a certain way you moved together—you were so tuned in tune to each other’s movements. He had a particular way of looking at only you. When he looked across the kitchen table at you, his whole face would soften. These are things I noticed but never quite put words to. I always knew you loved each other very much. I guess I didn’t know how much. 

I can’t imagine what it must be like to have had him come back, and then be gone again. Remus, I am so sorry. 

I burned your letter, like you asked. I won’t tell anyone. But I don’t think it should be some dark secret that weighs you down. People want to help. I want to help. It must have been lonely, carrying around that secret while you grieve. 

Are you okay? I mean that genuinely. Of course you aren’t, but I so, so want for you to be as okay as possible. I am sad and tired and I am okay. 

 

Remus, 

You can’t think of it that way. It hasn’t been much time, but we can’t just stop in place. We keep living life even if we aren’t ready to move on. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in spite of myself—because keeping the curtains drawn and sleeping a Saturday away is still living, isn’t it? 

I miss you very much and I wish you’d come to visit.

 

Remus, 

Do you think sex is a betrayal? Does being with me make you feel like you are wronging him? I like having sex with you. It’s one of the only things that distracts me from how terrible everything else makes me feel. I like being around you in other ways too, but I like sleeping with you and I would like to continue. I think it’s best if we’re both honest about these things.  

 

Remus, 

Oh, you made me blush. Of course I want that too. If we’re done being polite, I’ll be plain: Please come fuck me. My flat is always so cold. I’m wrapped up in three blankets writing to you now. I just splattered one with ink. I’m avoiding the subject at hand because I got embarrassed. Just promise me you won’t be fragile. I’m not fragile, and neither are you. 

 

Remus, 

It was good, it was good, it was good, it was good to have you with me last week. You left your blue flannel shirt. I’ve been wearing it around the apartment after my shower. The place seems very quiet without you inside. I went out and bought a little fern at the herbology shop down the road so that I can talk to him, instead. I’ve taken to calling him Ferdinand. 

I am going home to my mum and dad’s for Christmas but I would love to have you for New Years.

 

Remus, 

I keep thinking of the snow falling out the window while you slept. I couldn’t sleep so I stayed up watching it. I hate snow usually. But this snow fell so light. The street lamp outside cast its glow over the side of your face. And I thought of how you deserve only good things to happen to you from now on. How we both deserve that. 

Each night I come home and put on your blue flannel and dance around listening to the same albums again and again. In school I used to dance all the time. We would put on records loud and jump on the beds in our room, shimmying. Once Grace Greg got so into a Duran Duran lipsynch that she ripped the curtains off her bed. I used to move so carefree. I guess what I’m saying is that dancing--remembering to dance--it feels really good. The next time I see you, I want you to show me how you move your hips. 

 

Remus, 

Yes, my patronus has changed. I knew news would get back to you eventually. The entire matter embarasses me. 

 

Remus, 

I’ll answer because you asked. Yes, I am in love with you. I know you don’t want that, but I can’t lie, especially when you ask me so pointedly. 

I think that things could be so good, if you only let them. I think that things could be easy between us even if the rest of the world is hard. I keep thinking of the last time you came to visit, when we laid on my couch with our legs tangled in the middle reading different sections of the Prophet. It was good, Remus, and you know it. 

The winter light is lovely through my big windows. 

 

Remus, 

I saw Fred and George at the Order meeting last week and they said they’d just seen you at dinner. I’ve been worried that something happened to you and that’s why you’d stopped writing. I guess that was silly of me. They said you seemed thin and sad and that Molly tried to give you a fourth helping. I feel very angry with you but I hope you are taking care of yourself. 

 

Remus, 

I was paging through the copy of Dorian Grey you loaned to me, reading through the lines you underlined. Do you remember why you marked this:  _When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance._ You underlined it twice. When I saw it I thought, yes, that makes sense. 

 

Remus, 

The snow is beginning to thaw outside my window. Your birthday is the first week of March. This has been the hardest winter I’ve ever had. I almost can’t believe that soon the sun will be out, and things will start to grow. You haven’t written me for almost two months and one morning last week I was so angry about it I threw a bowl against the counter. It cracked in three clean pieces and I kept the smallest shard on my dresser. Do you believe in talismans? It feels like one to me.

 

Remus, 

I’ve tried to move on and it hasn’t worked. There’s a nice boy in the village and he comes over to listen to records and fuck me. Whenever we’re finished, I can’t stand the sight of him, I can’t stand his hands on me. I never let him spend the night. 

You must think I’m telling you to make you jealous. Maybe I am. 

 

Remus, 

Your letter arrived the same day the tree outside of my window began showing its buds. I’d planned to rip up any letter you sent me, but I’m never good to my word. George told me you got roughed up doing Order work, that you showed up to his mum’s with three broken ribs and spent a week in Ron’s old bedroom getting better. You must know this news gets back to me. You must know I worry. 

I’ve been thinking about you so often, and wanting to write, and not writing. Soon it will be a year since the battle at the Ministry. I’m scared of the date approaching. I’m scared of what it means for that day to be a year gone. 

 

Remus,

I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I do. Some days I feel like I’m still there. Even as I walk to campus and go about my day. Sometimes I have to find an empty classroom and lean against a desk and try to breath through it--thinking about the sound of glass breaking and the shouts and the blood on the floor, of Mad-Eye shouting at me to take cover--I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so afraid--of casting spells to kill instead of to stun and defend. I’ve never been in a battle like that before. I’ve dueled, and I’ve been on Ministry teams who take dark wizards in, but I’ve never been in such chaos. I’ve never gone into a battle knowing I might have to kill. 

I didn’t kill anyone that night. I don’t think I did. But I’m so scared of when that day comes. I know I will. I’ll have to. 

And the fact that  _ he _ was there. I think of Harry on the ground, screaming. I was across the room, ducked behind a doorway. I wanted to run to him, but I was too afraid. I’ve been afraid since then.

Please come. I don’t want to beg you, but I want you to know. I want you to be here. 

 

Remus, 

I changed a lock of my hair today. Just a lock in the front. Hot pink. I wish I could have sent you a picture. I thought it would make me happy, but instead it just made me feel embarrassed. I didn’t want other people to see it and comment on it. 

 

Remus, 

You didn’t need to send the book back. I meant it as a gift. 

 

Remus, 

Thought of you during the moon. I sat at my window looking up at it glowing, and I ached for you. I saw the lines you underlined in the poem. 

_ Ash, ash, You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling.  _

I read the poem to myself out loud in the quiet of my flat, and I thought about Phoenix feathers and bonfires. I thought about how me and you and the people we love. We are the type who rise again. 

Enclosed you’ll find your blue flannel shirt and your copy of _Dorian Grey_. I put the shard from the bowl I broke in the shirt pocket. You will think I’m silly, but holding it makes me feel safe. It’s fragile and sharp at once. It makes me feel better to think of you having it. 

 

Remus, 

I wanted to tell you about my dream before I forget it. I dreamt you and I were walking through an old house, where everything was covered in dust. You held my hand. And as we walked, we collected things from shelves and coffee tables and desk drawers. All the things that used to belong to me, things I’d lost over the years. A library card, an herbology textbook, a house key, a silver charm bracelet. Your hands were full too. Old photographs and bit of parchment, a stack of old books, a cracked leather jacket. Our arms were full and we kept hunting anyway. And I knew we wouldn’t be able to bring those things out of the house. There was too much, it was all too heavy. 

 

Remus,

I would like nothing more than for you to visit. You knew this answer when you wrote, I am sure. I’ve opened the windows to my flat and even though the air is still too cold, it smells clean. 


End file.
